


Intricacies of Life

by the_blue_fairie



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Elsamaren Summer 2020 (Disney), ElsamarenSummer2020, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_blue_fairie/pseuds/the_blue_fairie
Summary: In childhood, Elsa always marveled at the patterns in her mother's scarf. But she could only dream of the fact those patterns were a part of something greater, fuller, and more beautiful. A heritage she was cut off from by her grandfather's cruelty - but that she can find again. Written for Elsamaren Summer 2020.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39
Collections: Elsamaren Summer 2020





	Intricacies of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this is short, but it was written with love and I hope that love shines through. Thank you and enjoy.

As a child, Elsa had always been fascinated by her mother’s scarf.

Her mother would embrace her, hold her close – and Elsa’s tiny face would press against the crimson softness. Its texture comforted her. Its pattern swirled in her dreams like a dancer – gliding, graceful, like the ribbon of the sea in sunlight and Elsa would follow that ribbon, go upon that gossamer, walk upon the waters… Walk upon the waters until sun and sky were all about her and the world would sing in a music that matched the dance…

Drowsy dances of thought for a little dreamer, too young to string together the silver cobwebs that melted like snow upon awakening…

The ribbon only reached so far although it was a sea. Walking on water in all its limitlessness only led to another edge… like the water’s edge for a shore-bound soul…

The scarf was a fragment – beautiful, but a fragment – and Elsa did not even know the wider sprawl of fabrics…

Putting the piece with the whole – seeing the one small pattern matched with countless others, seeing the breadth of the artistry of the Northuldra, of her mother’s people, her and her sister’s people… it felt like going beyond the sea and sky.

Like stepping into Ahtohallan’s light.

Her grandfather cut her off from them. He hacked the majesty of the magnificent cloth as he hacked flesh. If he could have worked his will, he would have burned the beauty of the tents, stripped the beauty of these patterns, these textures, these histories and legacies from the world.

The Northuldra are still healing from that.

_Elsa_ is still healing from that.

(The shadow of her grandfather’s prejudice had haunted her, a long-dead and willfully malevolent ghost that never lets death kill it…)

These patterns, these textures are a part of her. She threads them into her gowns of ice. She dons them with her gowns – caps, shawls, sandals more comforting than hers of ice – meshing the magic that the Northuldra honor with the magic of their art.

She feels her mother in these patterns, feels herself… and feels the woman she loves.

Honeymaren’s fingers are delicate on the loom, crafting not simply out of skill, it seems, but out of delight.

To craft for delight and yet to have such precision – Elsa loves her.

Elsa loves the delicacy of Honeymaren’s fingers as she threads, the delicacy as she places some new thing of beauty about Elsa’s shoulders or upon her brow.

“You look good.”

A smooth smile is on Maren’s lips. It makes Elsa smile in turn, makes her laugh as lightly as in childhood – but the lightness has a fullness that fragmentary childhood could only promise for the marvels of the future.

Elsa cherishes the new cap, the new shawl, the new bangle she weaves into her dress.

Honeymaren’s fingers are soft and tender. Love is in her craftsmanship. Love that Elsa feels threading a new beauty close to her heart… close to her heart so that Maren is always a part of her, so the Northuldra – family Elsa had never known, cut off by fog – are always a part of her. And love is even richer in Honeymaren’s touch.

Maren’s hands are warm wrapped around Elsa in the cool of evening, warm as the quilt twined around them both. Maren’s hands are warm upon her heart. It beats with a steadiness, a softness – the fragments of childhood all come together in a magnificent design.

As sleep settles over her, Elsa loses herself in the beauties of the patterns of the tent above her. They become gauzy in dreaminess, the antler curves, the star-jewels. She sees them in a gentle blur beyond Maren’s head as Maren rises to kiss her… Elsa shuts her eyes, savoring the love and peace of the kiss.

In dreams, the ribbon goes on forever – and she and Maren ride together upon its smoothness until Elsa awakens in the morning, when they are still together always. Bound by love.


End file.
